He ignores me, even if I’m sure he’s aware of my presence. Instead, he keeps mourning his drink, as if for him I’m not there anymore, as if I’m just another body in the room.
I place my hand on the back of the chair in front of him and I hear the sound of it scratching the floor. The loud noise makes me aware of what I’m doing—dragging the piece of furniture until I have enough space to sit down. It’s as if I’m in someone else’s body, as if I’m possessed by some ethereal entity, or as if I’ve lost my mind.
I make myself at home and that’s when he looks up.
At first he seems surprised. I would be too if a stranger approached me out of the blue. His eyes roam my face, and every nerve in my body comes to life. When confusion fills his eyes, whatever I was feeling is muted. Then he squints, maybe trying to understand if we’ve met before.
We haven’t or I would have remembered him, and yet, in some obscure way, it feels like we have. Or at least it does for me.
I watch the wheels in his head process all the clues his beautiful eyes capture while he looks at me and come up with the only correct answer—I’m a stranger. His face darkens and his eyes become stone and ice, and I swear cold daggers fly my way. They shouldn’t be making me hot, but that’s exactly what they do.
Even if I’m in a snowy storm created by his stare, I’m captured by his eyes. They’re like a clear sky in a gelid land. They should exude the same glacial temperature… instead, they send thrills of hot lava down my core, as if I’m dipping my body into those steaming watery holes you find in arctic places.
I wiggle on the chair, making space for the interest my cock is taking in him.What the hell is wrong with me?
Under his stare I take my time to observe him. Now that I’m so close to him, he’s even better. His hair is short on the sides, and it parts on the right, with the longer top swept back and to the side, but it rebels by forming small waves. Not a hair is out of place, as if even it can’t disobey him. His face is masculine with strong brows adorning those potent eyes, and high cheekbones partially hidden by his beard. Which is a work of art. It’s bushy and well kept, with dark brown parts highlighted by lighter ones, giving him a younger look. He’s not old by any means, but his attitude is sad, grumpy, aloof, and because I’m crazy, so very endearing.
You wouldn’t need to stay on guard with someone like him next to you.
I let go of the thought, because a man like him is never going to look at someone like me. I’m not classy, and with my jeans jacket and grey hoody that are all I can afford to keep warm. Right now, though, I wish I was a tad classier, just for a chance to be in his arms for a moment or even for a second, to remember what it means to be held because of a spark between two people, instead of the revolting feeling of being forced. I’m someone who’s just trying to get by, trying not to end up on the street or dead while repaying a debt that wasn’t mine to pay off. I was stupid enough to trust somebody who disappeared, leaving me to pick up the pieces.
If I’m lucky I get fifty pounds when I take it up my arse. It doesn’t happen often, because it’s something I can’t wash away. No amount of washing makes it disappear. It’s stuck with me forever, imprinted on my brain like it was branded there.
However, when Dick comes asking for money, I have to have it. Every single damn penny. The consequences, which I was subjected to the first and only time I didn’t have the money ready, are very compelling in reminding me to never miss a payment again. Or talk back… or ask for more time.
Those consequences are still scarred on my skin, and what he did… fuck, I don’t want to remember.
Once, I tried to run. It was the first time he knocked at my door. When he asked… told me I had to repay what my ex owed him.Nothing I said worked, so I was left with the only choice I was certain could save me, and I ran. I lasted until I reached the entrance of the building I was living in at the time. Dick was there waiting for me, as if he knew, as if he could read me. Trying once was enough to cure me of the idea of doing it again.
Now I’m focused on repaying everything, and then one day I’ll be free.
You fool. He’s never going to let you go.
I shake these thoughts away, because I can’t have a panic attack here.
I blink a couple of times, as if I have all the time in the world, until it hits me that I’m still sitting at this stranger’s table lost in nasty memories while he observes me. His intense look makes my body tingle with awareness, but when our eyes meet he looks away, his face becoming like stone. Maybe I should just get up and leave, follow what his eyes and facial expression are telling me he wants. And yet here I stay, unable to let go… as if by walking away I’d be letting go of something important. Like a chance that shouldn’t be missed.
There must be something very wrong with me today, if I’m building a dream over nothing. Over the idea that he’s a better man than those who usually fill this place, only because he hasn’t treated me like trash yet.
His lips stretch over his straight white teeth, as if he’s getting ready to eat me alive. He’s like the hypnotic gaze of thecuttlefish, luring me into offering myself willingly to his sharp teeth. But before he does, I put my hand up to placate him.
It’s his turn to blink, take a few deep breaths, and then while he stares at me, his body relaxes. His shoulders drop as if he just realised I’m not a threat.
I chuckle inside my head, amused by my own thoughts, because if he wanted to he could bend me over, as if I were made of cotton. Nope, of course the word bending doesn’t ignite a very real and very sexy vision of him doing just that… on a bed, on a sofa, on every surface we can find.
He looks so fucking strong to me, as if he’s used to taking on the world and winning. I don’t miss the scars inflicted by the fight, though.
How would it feel to be someone he wants to protect?
Another stupid dream… a dream that reminds me what I’m good at right now, and it’s being on my knees in the alley at the back of this place… or being plastered against the wall, with a random customer grunting in my ear.
I push back the tears forming in my eyes, there’s no space for them here. There’s no good in crying and letting this life take the last bits of me. My situation is an ugly one, but I don’t want to succumb to it. Instead, I want to focus on the positive in it. My friendship with Jeremy, and the belief that someday this part of my life will be an afterthought. I won’t be selling my body, andI’ll have a place for myself and Jeremy. And maybe, if I’m very lucky, a man who will love me despite my past.
A glass hitting the table brings me back once again to the awkward situation I’ve created with my crazy behaviour.
We seem to already be in sync, because his words match the thoughts swirling inside my head a few seconds ago, and they don’t surprise me at all.
“Scram.” His voice is gruff, as if he hasn’t used it for a long time, or as if he’s been… crying. His tone is hard, not leaving space to second guess. He wants me gone, that’s what he means.
